Lynne Truss: once again I have fallen for the absurd hype of a BBC trailer

Why, asks our columnist, do exciting-sounding programmes so often fail to
deliver?

The recent Horizon programme on secret cat behaviour promised a great deal more than it delivered, in my opinion. Perhaps one should blame the trail culture rather than the programme itself, but by the time it arrived on the screen, many BBC Two watchers were in such a lather of excitement that it could end only in tears. Cats were going to be tagged! They were going to be fitted with night-vision cameras! We were going to find out exactly what cats got up to when their owners were asleep! Naturally, one’s imagination raced. By the time I tuned in for Horizon: The Secret Life of the Cat, I had decided I would be content with any of the following revelations: a) Existence of organised cat fight clubs; b) Existence of academic cat symposium on the semiotics of yowling (with illustrious cats coming over from France); c) Cat tennis. So when it was revealed that cats basically went out for walks (but not when it was raining), I for one felt quite cheated. My mum likewise watched with high expectations; she said that when it got to 10pm, she couldn’t believe she had spent a whole hour watching nothing whatever of interest occur in the secret world of cats. I said to her, “And did you notice that the cats in question weren’t even very attractive?” And she said, yes, she had noticed that as well.

Admittedly, some of the TV reviewers were quite impressed by the programme – but of course they are professionals, watching on DVD; they are less susceptible to the continuity stuff endured by the genuine viewer. Does the BBC presentation department make all sorts of clever calculations with regard to trail-density? Well, if so, that’s even more reason why they should all be hauled out and fired. “Not again!” I yell, several times an evening. If any enterprising film-maker fitted me with an electronic tag and a portable camera, they would discover that I see every trail on BBC Two at least 47 times; I would now actually shriek if I ever saw again that larky montage in which Stephen Fry said the road to something-or-other begins with a single question, and Paul Hollywood recommended dough-kneading as a remedy for bingo wings. But imagine the irony. If they did indeed make Horizon: The Secret Life of the BBC Two Viewer, featuring a crazed woman on a sofa shouting, “Oh NOT this trail about bingo wings AGAIN!” this highlight would itself be trailed so heavily that by the time the programme aired, people would be impaling themselves on special spikes in their living rooms, rather than see it again.

Looking back, the best thing about the cat programme was the pleasure this scientific exercise brought to the inhabitants of a Surrey village. They simply shone with pride as they were shown computer graphics representing the unremarkable activity patterns of their unremarkable moggies. Being part of a study makes us feel worthwhile as human beings. Part of the addictive appeal of Pointless (a show I watch compulsively), is that Alexander Armstrong assures us: “We gave 100 people 100 seconds to name as many Conservative prime ministers/types of lettuce/operas in which the heroine doesn’t die at the end” – and while you are naturally agog to know how many of the respondents came up with David Cameron (only 56!) or Iceberg (ooh, 42!), or La Fanciulla del West (nobody!), you also feel a pang of jealousy. Who were these lucky people that were asked? Why have I never met one? Can I be one some day, please – or is it bad form to volunteer?

Anyway, at least we know it for certain now. Cats go out (but not if it’s raining). Ho hum. My darling cat Paddy, by the way, who was a beautiful tortoiseshell and lived to be 20, had a bit of a secret life herself. She would hop into a horrible moulded-plastic shopping bag and hunker down. At this signal, I would have to pick up the bag and swing it back and forth, like a steam swing in a fairground, even if I had an urgent appointment elsewhere. We would keep this up for 10 minutes at a time: she absolutely loved it. Of course, Paddy’s bizarre thrill addiction meant that I had to keep a nasty plastic shopping bag in the living room at all times; but honestly, I never really minded.